


i'm a goner

by ravenraiyes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Babysitting, Domestic Fluff, Domestic!Bellarke, Domesticity, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, and ofc domestic bellarke my weakness, uncle!bellamy & aunt!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenraiyes/pseuds/ravenraiyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They’re all laughing in his dining room at a rather embarrassing picture of Bellamy involving a firetruck and buck naked babies - he had some rather <i>interesting</i> tendencies as a child, okay, and his mother just happened to have a camera on hand whenever he’d make a mess -  when Octavia lets out a small gasp, hand flying to her swollen belly.</p><p>This isn’t O’s first kid - no, that title belongs to Elliot, a chubby two year old sitting at the head of the table, enraptured by the fistful of spaghetti he had in his hands - but Bellamy still feels a hint of mute horror as she says, “My water just broke.”</p><p>Or, the one where Bellamy and Clarke are domestic AF but they don't realize it. Like at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm a goner

**Author's Note:**

> domestic!bellarke
> 
> what more should i say???
> 
> for [sabine](http://ofmonty.tumblr.com/)

They’re all laughing in his dining room at a rather embarrassing picture of Bellamy involving a firetruck and buck naked babies - he had some rather _interesting_ tendencies as a child, okay, and his mother just happened to have a camera on hand whenever he’d make a mess -  when Octavia lets out a small gasp, hand flying to her swollen belly.

This isn’t O’s first kid - no, that title belongs to Elliot, a chubby two year old sitting at the head of the table, enraptured by the fistful of spaghetti he had in his hands - but Bellamy still feels a hint of mute horror as she says, “My water just broke.”

“Mama!” Elliot giggles, tossing a handful of spaghetti across the table, completely unaware of the chaos quickly descending upon Bellamy’s apartment.

“I got the overnight bag,” Clarke says determinedly, darting out of her chair and into the guest room, grabbing the duffel that Bellamy insisted on keeping at his house just for this occasion specifically.

  
What could he say? The Blakes are not exactly passive people, even from birth - he was born in the back of a car, mainly because because his mother couldn’t exactly give birth and drive at the same time, and Octavia was born in his grandparents’ barn, right next to the tabby cat (long story).

Eliot, bless his chubby little soul, was two weeks premature, and Octavia had been boarding an airplane at the time.

“I’ll get the car,” Lincoln offers, smoothing down O’s hair and pressing a quick kiss to her temple before jogging out of the apartment, leaving him and his sister alone.

“You know,” Bellamy says casually, picking up Elliot, bouncing the toddler on his hip as he cleared the plates, “Raven and Wick have been placing bets on whether this Blake’ll be a boy or a girl.”

Octavia arches an eyebrow (god, she looks like such a _mom_ that he wants to laugh) and replies dangerously, “You aren’t seriously asking this while I’m in _labor_ , would you dear brother Bellamy?”

“Of course not.” He whistles innocently as he rubs pasta sauce out of Elliot’s cheeks and hands, “But you do know they have a hundred bucks riding on this thing?”

At this, his sister lets out a little chuckle.

“Will you split with me fifty-fifty?” She asks, and he hides a grin as he towels the little tyke off before he can cause anymore messes.

“Of course. It _is_ your kid, after all. You’re the one giving birth.”

“Kids, actually.” O corrects from behind him, and he swears his neck is _not_ supposed to move that fast, but it snaps around to face her anyway.

Fuck, he’s getting too old for this.

“Twins?” he asks incredulously, walking over to his baby sister and grabbing plates from the dinner table to keep his fingers from ruffling his hair nervously, heart already aching for her and the long hours she had ahead.

“Twins.” O finishes nervously, biting her lip and looking at Elliot as she softly says, “You’re getting two new siblings, bud.”

“Twins!” Clarke grins, tossing the duffel bag onto the floor, placing a kiss to the top of Octavia’s head, lifting her hands in triumph.

“And that’s good because?” Octavia asks, eyebrows raised, and Bellamy fights the urge to laugh because god, she is such a _mom._

“You’re not the one who has to pop two new human beings out of you within the next twenty four to forty eight hours.”

What happened to the whiny, immature teenager that he raised?

“True,” Clarke smirks, checking Bellamy lightly with her hip as she grabs the dirty dishes from his hands and starts on the pile in the sink. “But I am the one who bet on them, so, yeah, it’s good thing.”

Octavia positively _cackles_ at him, which prompts Elliot to laugh with her, but Bellamy’s brows knit themselves together, lips tugging downwards as he takes the wet dish stack that Clarke’s started and begins drying them with jerky movements.

Clarke tells him to stop sulking, that he looks like an Edward Cullen that went to get spray tanned, but he can’t help it, he really can’t.

_Damn._

He really wanted that hundred bucks.

______

**  
  
**

“Yes, I’ve got Eli here,” Bellamy rolls his eyes, cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder while picking up his nephew, who fiddles with Clarke’s smartphone fascinatedly, and puts the toddler on his knee, bouncing him up and down.

“He hasn’t died the other twenty billion times I’ve babysat,” he says in a low, soothing tone, shooting Clarke (who stayed over because she didn’t feel like walking the few blocks down the street, not that Bellamy would have let her) A Look, one that tells her that her best friend, who, coincidentally, is also his baby sister, is in the Paranoid Stage of her pregnancy, and hands out the phone into Clarke’s outstretched hands.

She, in turn, shoots him The Look, which means that he owes her (yet again).

If Bellamy had to say exactly how many favors he owed Clarke, he’s pretty sure the number would have six - no, seven - zeroes in it.

Let’s just say Clarke always manages to save his ass, and he always manages to be a bumbling idiot that needs his ass to be saved.

He’s just surprised she hasn’t called in any of them yet.

“Yeah, but the other twenty billion times, Bellamy, _I wasn’t in labor_!” Octavia screeches into the receiver just as he pulls away (he silently blesses all the gods that his ear wasn’t anywhere near the receiver; he probably would’ve gone deaf, which would seriously suck) and focuses on Elliot, still entranced by the glowing screen, lifting him up into the air with a twirl.

“Hey, calm down, O, he’s fine.” Clarke soothes into the receiver, and Elliot giggles, wrapping a tiny hand around Bellamy’s finger, dropping the phone almost immediately.

“Bellamy,” he says delightedly, tugging on the finger, and Bellamy grins, because his nephew must be the cutest little shit to ever walk the earth.

Plus, it’s the first time Eli has said any name with two or more syllables, so Bellamy considers it a colossal plus.

Take _that_ , Octavia.

They’d bet on whose name Eli would get right first; Bellamy had bet that the little tyke would get his uncle’s name first, purely because “I’m awesome and just because you brought the little sucker to life doesn’t exactly mean he’ll say your name right first.”

Bellamy is a fully mature adult who's going to be twenty-eight going on five _and_ still manages to score girls ( _miraculously_ , Clarke scoffs) so any insults directed against him is, effectively, useless.

In the end, he’s still the winner, so, well. There.

“Yeah, your brother _is_ being a little poophead.” Clarke nods absently, seeming to know just exactly what was going on in his mental facilities right now, covering the receiver and mouthing an apology as Bellamy narrows his eyes at the insult.

“He’s a _guy_ , Octavia, what do you expect?”

Well, he was talking about winning a stupid bet with his sister while said sister is in labor. He’s obviously a little bit of an asshole, but hey, isn’t everyone?

______

The door creaks open as light filters into the room, and Bellamy cracks open an eyelid grumpily as Clarke murmurs a soft apology, padding into the room, thick black rimmed glasses shoved on the top of her head. Her hair’s tangled up in a makeshift bun, and she’s wearing one of his shirts that looks like it swallowed her whole, coupled with a pair of booty shorts that really doesn’t exist at all.

Bellamy thinks that they were given the title of ‘shorts’ generously, because really all you see is, well, the booty.

Not that he’s looking, or anything.

“It took you long enough.” he grumbles good-naturedly, patting the side of the bed next to him as he makes an attempt to pull back the blanket for her.

It’s more of a weak twitch of the fingers than an attempt, mainly because if he moved his arm, which currently served as a makeshift pillow for Eli, he’s pretty sure the little dude would begin bawling, and _no one_ wanted that.

(One time, a very desperate, sleep-deprived, exhausted Octavia almost tossed Elliot out the window because the squealing was so loud. She had unlatched the window before Lincoln realized just what she was doing.)

“Who knew procrastination could be such a bitch?” Clarke says by way of explanation, slipping underneath the covers, sandwiching Eli between the two of them, and well, Bellamy’s not really complaining.

It’s cold, Eli isn’t exactly the best company because the kid drools a lot in his sleep, he’s pretty sure the clock by his bedside reads twelve o’ clock in the morning, so it’s safe to say all rational thinking has left his body about two hours ago, and well, he likes it when Clarke cuddles with him.

“I’m pretty sure everyone knows that, Clarke.” he rumbles into the pillow, voice still scratched with grogginess and laced with sleep. “It’s, like, the very first thing you learn to do in college. And totally regret doing later.”

“Well, who knew being an adult meant so many responsibilities?” she turns to face him after placing her glasses on the bedstand, bemoaning about taxes and April and other ‘adult’ shit.  

Bellamy just really wants to go back to sleep. He’s already dealt with this being an adult business about two years ago, and Clarke had done nothing but laugh in his face, offering him a few cheap beers to help the taste of it all go down.

It’s Clarke’s turn to suffer now.

“Good night, princess,” he says as he rolls his eyes, thinking, _god, what a dork_.

______

**  
  
**

Clarke yawns and pads into his bathroom, grabbing the pink toothbrush next to his in the cup by the sink and applies toothpaste, sticking the thing in her mouth as she brushed with fervor.

He’d gotten the thing for her as a gag gift, a horrendously electric pink personalized toothbrush that had _Princess_ etched in gold on the side - it was a matching set with O’s, which read _Perpetual_ _Badass_ on the side (her choice, not his).

She’d kept it though, to his surprise, and delighted in using it so much that she kept it at his apartment - where she was most of the time, so really, it made no difference.

Toweling off his face, he leans down to place a noisy kiss on her cheek, making sure there’s a little extra spit there for good measure as he says, too chipper for eight in the morning for her tastes, he’s sure:

“Good mor _ning_!”

She squeals, wiping at her face and quickly spits out her toothpaste, running the sink and washing her face simultaneously, glaring at Bellamy, but he’s already out the bathroom door, chuckling in delight.

“You are dead to me, Bellamy Blake. Dead to me!” she yells after him, fists trembling as her sides shake with laughter, flicking water his way.

“You’ll _rue_ this day,” she mocks from the mirror, voice taking on a snivelly tone, as she flashes him a smirk. “Rue it!”

“I think I get it, Nevel Papperman,” he chuckles, flopping onto the bed, which makes Eli giggle in delight, grinning when the two year old grips onto his finger with surprising strength.

There’s a little bit of comfortable silence while she does her thing in the bathroom and he plays with Eli, lifting him up in the air and making airplane noises while he balances the tyke on his knees, occasionally swooping the kid, who coos happily.

“You know, you always say that,” he singsongs, picking up a delighted Eli from the sea of blankets, “until you get a taste of my heavenly pancakes. Then it’s -”

Here he does a pretty dead on impression of a grumpy, coffee deprived Clarke, if he does say so himself, complete with the Griffin glare and pout, signature looks that he’s pretty sure Clarke should have patented, judging by just how many times she uses them on a day to day basis.

“I’m Clarke. I’m grumpy and I’m convinced the world is out to get me during the morning, but if you make me food, though, I guess you’re alright. Food makes _everything_ better.” He pushes out his bottom lip, accentuating the sentence with a wide sweep of his arms, deliberately making eye contact with Clarke, who’s trying to look mad but bursts out into laughter a few seconds later.

“Speaking of pancakes -” he says slowly, holding up a finger, watching the way her eyes sparkle in delight, the way her body lights up with joy at the words as he not so subtly admired the force of nature that is Clarke Griffin.

“You didn’t!” she squeals, stopping only to give him a quick peck on the cheek before sprinting out the bathroom and down the hall. A victory screech five seconds later tells him that, yes, indeed, she had found the stack of pancakes he’d made for them.

“Your aunt’s a little bit crazy. You should definitely take after your much, _much_ cooler uncle, okay?” he says softly to Elliot, absently rubbing the toddler’s cheek as he fondly glances down at him.

“Love Clarke.” Elliot says matter of factly, so straightforward and deathly serious for a little kid that Bellamy has to smile.

“Yeah, bud, me too.”

**  
  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> kudos? thoughts? comments? more in this verse?
> 
> talk to me on my [ tumblr](http://hailreyes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
